


No Vigilantes Allowed on Premises!

by a_silver_sun



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Not Canon Compliant, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 11:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14914967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_silver_sun/pseuds/a_silver_sun
Summary: Foggy and Matt try starting over. Meanwhile Daredevil has apparently taken on a protege and Jessica Jones is pissed.Also, Foggy lobbies really hard for Brazilian food.





	No Vigilantes Allowed on Premises!

*

Foggy balled up another piece of yellow legal paper and pitched it across the tiny space he and Matt called an office. Matt had his feet propped up on his desk, crossed at the ankles, and was tilted so far back in his office chair it was a wonder he didn’t topple over. But Matt’s arm shot out unerringly each time Foggy sent a ball his way, and he never lost his balance. Not even a little bit. Matt would have snagged each and every one of Foggy’s fly balls even if he’d been balancing his chair on a highwire across Niagara Falls. 

Foggy made a mental note to never, ever put that particular bug in Matt’s ear. 

“We could try that new Brazilian steakhouse,” Foggy said just as Matt sent the ball flying back. Of course he fumbled it, so he jabbed his index finger accusingly toward the desk across from his to wordless say to his partner, _“you’d better not laugh at me, Murdock.”_ And Matt, ever the innocent party, simply shrugged him off. 

“I don’t think I want anything that heavy,” Matt said dismissively. He took his feet off the desk and made a face that said even _thinking_ about all-you-can-eat barbecue made him queasy.

Strike three, then. 

Besides tossing around paper baseballs, he and Matt were running down the clock until quittin’ time by throwing out after-work dinner ideas. Or more accurately, Foggy was making the suggestions while Matt discarded each and every one. It was frustratingly one-sided as far as negotiations went. 

He tried not to show it, but Foggy couldn’t help but to feel disappointed. He… might have had his heart set on experiencing what promised to be an endless ballet of giant cuts of succulent meats all brought out and carved at your table ever since he saw a flyer for the _rodízio_ style restaurant carelessly jammed into his mailbox last week. 

It didn’t matter if Matt was unable to see Foggy go into his desk and crumble the ad into his wastepaper basket. Somehow he would still know. The bastard.

Sensing blood in the water, Matt chose just that moment to casually say, “How about our usual Thai place, instead?” Yep. And there it was. Foggy had waited a few rounds before dropping his preferred restaurant choice into the mix to avoid tipping his hand too soon, but of course Matt knew that already. 

For a guy without working eyeballs, he sure knew how to see right through people.

“Fine,” Foggy said, over-selling with a dramatic sigh. “You win. But you should know, dinner is one hundred percent on you.”

Matt looked smug, but he lifted up his hands, surrendering to Foggy’s infinite wisdom. He wasn’t buying the good sportsmanship act, though; dude had outmaneuvered him too well and too easily for that. 

“Hey,” Matt said then, and his expression shifted from light and playful to closed-off and pensive. His fingers disappeared into his shirt cuff to feel for his Braille watch before saying, “Our last appointment should be here soon, right?”

Foggy glanced at the small analog clock on his desk shaped like an old-fashioned pocket watch. “Yup. Almost that time,” he said.

Matt nodded absently. “Yeah, great,” he said through the world’s most unconvincing smile. Matt was not looking forward to this particular meeting, but Foggy knew better than to comment on it.

Matt fidgeted in his seat and coughed nervously. After a few minutes he said, “Yup. Okay, here we go.” Then he stood from behind his desk and tried straightening out his tie. It didn’t really help.

Then the door to their little storefront office squeaked open, the bell hanging on the door handle jingle-jangle happily, and a friendly voice called out, “knock knock!”

Their five o’clock, the last appointment of the day until quittin’ time was, of course, intrepid investigative reporter for the New York Bulletin, Ms. Karen Page. 

The three of them stood awkwardly in the tiny space in front of the twin desks of Nelson and Murdock Redux, and Karen made a grand show of taking it all in. “So this is the new place, huh?” She nodded to herself. “It looks…”

“Like we didn’t so much fall from the dizzying heights of Original Recipe Nelson and Murdock as lost our footing somewhere along the way only to find ourselves face-first in the mud?” He laughed a little, but it sounded weirdly unhinged rather than self-deprecating.

Matt and Karen's eyebrows shot up into their hairlines, with Matt holding his mouth agape like a weirdly handsome goldfish. _Tell us how you really feel, Foggy,_ their expressions said, and Foggy wondered if maybe he didn’t have some underlying feelings on the whole thing.

“...I was going to say it looks very cozy,” she said. It was a very diplomatic answer. 

“Cozy,” Foggy grumbled. They were lawyers, dammit, not proprietors of a cutesy country boutique. Well, if this whole Nelson & Murdock reboot thing didn’t work out, maybe owning such a store would be a feasible fall-back option. It would be a lot less stressful, that was for damn sure.

“Foggy blames himself for the collapse of HC&B,” Matt helpfully added.

“What the hell, Matt. I don’t _blame_ \--” Foggy clenched his teeth and turned to face Karen so he could ignore Mr. Buttinski over there. He explained, “That place is what happens when high powered attorneys eat each other alive. Guess I’m just not blood-thirsty enough to survive the frenzy.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. Though the truth wasn’t quite as clear cut as that. Sure, he could have continued on with Jeri Hogarth as she founded her own firm from the ashes of HC&B, but then the heavens parted and the angels sang, and… religious imagery was more Matt’s deal, but the guy showed up at his door one day just as if he knew Foggy was standing at a crossroad in need of direction. A year ago, Foggy would have told Matt to go pound sand. But that was before the asshole had gone and died on him. Before he’d shown up at his doorstep alive and well and in need of legal resurrection. Foggy could help with that. And he did. And maybe Foggy was a sucker. Maybe letting Matt back into his life was a burning wreck just waiting to happen. Then again, with the way his last job had imploded, there was no guarantee that following Jeri wouldn’t have end in its own fiery disaster. He’d much rather face the end of the world hand in hand with Matt given the option. Better the devil you know, he supposed. 

“Well,” Karen said. “I’m glad you and Matt are working things out.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said. _Fingers crossed._

“Speaking of which, Mr. Murdock. It’s good to see you.” 

“Likewise, Ms. Page,” he said, and Karen seemed unsure if she should respond by giving him a quick hug or planting a small chaste kiss on his cheek. Apparently deciding against either option, she ended up just kind of standing there, patting gingerly at his bicep. 

It was awkward. For everybody. 

Karen was Matt’s ex, and now he and Foggy were kind of... a thing. Almost. They were still new at this and hadn’t actually yet done the do, but you just try telling that to the busybodies down there on Centre St. The rumor mill churned on, and Karen must have heard her share of gossip. Foggy certainly had. 

“Okay!” Foggy piped in. “So this isn’t weird and vaguely uncomfortable.” Karen chuckled politely at that, and Matt looked significantly less tense. Hurray for defusing unbearable awkwardness by blatantly pointing it out! “How ‘bout we move the party to the conference room, huh?”

Of course, they didn’t actually have a whole separate room in which to hold conferences. What they did have was a cheap folding table pushed against the back wall behind a thin yet surprisingly ornate folding partition Foggy found at the Goodwill for short money. It looked cool, but was terrible at providing any actual privacy.

They all nodded and made their way over to the table. “Thank you guys for meeting me,” she said using her Professional Reporter-lady voice. She then set her recording device down on the table followed by a yellow legal pad and a purple rollerball pen. 

“Hold on a sec,” Matt interrupted. He gave Karen a quick ‘wait a second’ gesture, first with his index finger, then with his whole hand. He then took a few short steps over to the back door and dragged in the overturned milk crate which currently served as a makeshift door stop. After the door shut, the dull roar of the city muffled considerably. Sure, it was probably all still a cacophonous mess to Matt’s ridiculously sensitive ears, but to Foggy, and to Karen, and most importantly to Karen’s tape recorder, the relative silence was a tremendous relief. 

After Matt found his seat again, Karen picked up her pen and stared at Foggy with an intense expression he couldn’t quite decipher. Then she leveled the same expression at Matt. “Um. Before we get started, I was wondering if I could take a quick moment of Matt’s time?” She was still giving Matt the staredown with occasional furtive glances Foggy’s way. It was weird. “It would be totally anonymous, of course, completely off the record, but I was wondering about that robbery from last night? I mean, it is pretty unusual for--”

“--I didn’t think the Bulletin was interested in run-of-the-mill bodega robberies?” Matt said. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably and began tapping his fingers on the table.

“Oh,” she said. “We’re not. I’m actually more interested in the who rather than the what. I have at least three eyewitnesses who have reported a second costumed hero at the scene; female from what I understand, so I was wondering--”

“See that door up there?” Foggy interrupted. He vaguely gestured toward the front of the store, and Karen, sitting with her back to the partition, twisted around enough to see the door, not to mention the back of the old ‘Nelson and Murdock’ sign propped up inside the glass window right next to it. 

“Oh, um. Yes?” Karen’s eyebrows furrowed and her mouth turned downward and her crystal blue eyes cut deep into Foggy’s soul, trying to figure out where he was going with all this. 

“We have a strict policy here at Nelson and Murdock: Two Point Oh. ‘No Vigilantes on Premises.’ There’s even a sign on the door. Or there will be. Just as soon as I have one made up. So if... _Daredevil_ or any of his buddies ever wanted to step over that threshold, they would need an explicit invitation from me, Franklin Nelson, in order to do so. Preferably in writing.”

“They’re not vampires, Foggy,” Matt muttered. Judging from the sour expression on his face, Matt’s indigestion was back in full force. 

Karen looked at Foggy as if he’d just sprouted a second head. Then she stole a glance at Matt, who was looking more and more like someone who found the underside of the table downright fascinating, but wasn’t sure how to go about crawling under there without calling attention to himself. 

“Maybe since, um. Maybe since he’s not allowed here inside the office,” Matt stammered, “Then maybe Daredevil could meet up with you another time?” Matt cringed so badly Foggy was surprised he didn’t hurt himself.

Karen huffed like she couldn’t believe they were really dancing around the topic the way they were. “Yeah, of course. That’s fine,” she said. “That’s not really why I’m here, anyway.” She reached out and switched on her recording device.

“Let’s try this again,” she said. Straightening her posture, she very deliberately looked at both Matt and Foggy. Professional Reporter-lady, back on duty. “Thank you guys for allowing me to interview you today.”

“Sure thing.”

“Whatever we can do to help.”

“Great!” Karen said. “So you guys recently won your first case as the newly reformed Nelson and Murdock--”

“--Yeah, and we kicked ass.”

Karen laughed. “You did! I was fortunate enough to see some of the trial. Time in the shark tank served you well.” Foggy’s face felt hot, and he smiled brightly at the praise. Karen looked very proud and very fond. So much for unbiased reporting.

“--We’re just happy to be back helping the good people of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Wow, Matt,” Karen teased. _Death hadn’t changed you a single bit._

“Okay, good. So this is actually part of a larger piece I’m doing on-- Matt, everything okay over there?”

Next to him, Matt exploded out of his cheap folding chair, knocking it back and sending it clattering to the floor. “Um! What? No. I mean--!” Foggy’s shoulders slumped, because that deer-in-the-headlights look meant only one thing: Matt was hiding something. “I’m not here!” he blurted out, then bolted straight for the back door. Kicked the milk crate out of the way and threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.

“What the--” Karen started to say, but then the front door swung open, and their usually happy bell clattered violently against it. 

“Okay, where the hell is he,” Jessica Jones said as she strode into the store. She zeroed in on Foggy.

“Is this the part where my life flashes before my eyes?”

“Where is he, Nelson. And you’d better not fuck with me, because--”

“Jess, c’mon.” Patricia Walker (Trish? Patsy?) had stormed in behind Jones and was now pulling her off of Foggy by the back of her leather jacket. He was never so happy to have both his feet on solid ground. “Leave him alone and leave Ma--”

“Yeah, speaking of which,” Jones spat. “Where’s that devil-dork hiding, anyway.” She went over to Matt’s desk and started rummaging through his stuff. “There is entirely jack shit here,” she eventually said. 

_I could have told you that,_ Foggy thought, and Karen looked like she wasn’t sure if she should duck under a table or bring out the popcorn.

“I’m really sorry--” Trish Walker started to say. (This was so weird. And completely out of context. Foggy listened to Trish Talk! every morning before work. What the hell was she doing in his office.)

“Ah ha!” Jones exclaimed. She pointed accusingly at the overturned milk crate. “I got ya, you bastard.” Then she disappeared out the back door, leaving the three of them to stand awkwardly in her wake.

“So much for ‘No Vigilantes Allowed,’” Karen mumbled.

“On Premises,” Foggy corrected inanely. “What the hell’s going on here?” He addressed that last part to Ms. Walker.

Overhead there were stomping sounds so loud Foggy almost expected to see a boot break right through the acoustical tile.

“Are they fighting up there?” Karen asked incredulously.

“Oh my God, is she going to throw him off?” Foggy was very tempted to run out there and try to knock some sense into the two of them. Or at the very least, keep them from knocking each other out. “Again I ask you,” Foggy said. “What the hell is happening.”

“This is my fault,” Trish said, and the three of them all winced in unison as something crashed to the ground in the small parking lot behind the building. 

“I’m gonna sue,” Foggy muttered. “I’m gonna sue so hard she’s gonna… wait.” He narrowed his eyes at Trish. “How is this your fault?”

“I was going to tell her! Honest! But you know how Jess is; she was going to find out anyway, and you can’t always hide injuries--” And Foggy had a sinking sense of deja vu. 

“Oh my God,” Karen said. “It’s you! You’re the new,” and here she lowered her voice, “you’re his... sidekick--”

“Okay, let’s get one thing straight. I’m nobody’s _sidekick._ I am my own--”

“You are all insane,” Foggy said. “Each and every one of you.”

“Even me?” Karen said with a huff. 

“Remind me. Just how is Frank Castle these days?”

“Okay, point taken.”

“So,” Karen said, not about to let an opportunity go to waste, “Would you mind letting me interview you about your newfound partnership with Matt, I mean with Daredevil sometime? It would be one hundred percent anonymous if you’d prefer--”

The back door slammed open and Jessica Jones waltzed back into the office as if nothing happened. “I think we’ve come to an understanding,” she said ominously. 

“I swear to God if you’ve hurt my partner--”

“Take a chill, Nelson.” As if on cue, Matt followed behind her. He stood framed in the doorway as he fished his shades from his shirt pocket. He was sporting a brand-new shiner just above his right eye, which the glasses hid nicely. For the most part.

“It’s fine, Foggy.”

“Assault and battery is not fine, Matthew!”

Jessica headed straight for the front door. “Coming?” she said to Trish.

“Yes, fine!” Trish peevishly answered. Then to the rest of them: “I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Matt said. “Be on time. Eleven o’clock, St. Michael’s.”

“Oh, thank God,” Trish said. She sounded like someone who was grateful she hadn’t been fired. “The rooftop?”

“Of course,” Matt said.

“Again I say, you are all insane.”

Karen said, “Maybe we can finish that interview another time?”

“Yes!” Foggy said. “Definitely. But first we should go and get food. Do something normal for a change.”

“Have you guys tried that new Brazilian place? What do they call it? A churr… Churro--”

“ _Churrascaria._ And yes. Great minds think alike, Ms. Page. Also, Matthew here has very generously offered to pick up the tab.”

“Oh, wow,” Karen said.

And Matt protested with a weak, “Hey now.”

Foggy made sure to lock the door tight once they were all standing outside. He stole a moment to really take in their storefront: a glass door with the name “Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law” etched into it. Next to the door was the large glass window covered with cheap plastic blinds, and in it sat their old metal sign. 

A No Vigilantes sign would go right next to it, and it would look perfect.

\--the end--

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this bit of silliness <3
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [a-silver-sun](https://a-silver-sun.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to come say hi!


End file.
